i don’t believe, often.

i may have once before.

"We are all unreliable here."
— Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita [transl. Mirra Ginsburg]

Chicago (2002)

"We are, I know not how, double in ourselves, so that what we believe we disbelieve, and cannot rid ourselves of what we condemn."
— Michel de Montaigne, as quoted in The Complete Works of Michael de Montaigne (1842) by William Hazlitt (via hoomanao)

you know what will be nice it will be nice when my computer isn’t as loud as a small airplane it will be nice when it doesn’t crash after i watch a few videos or make one gif it will be nice when it doesn’t take five minutes to open word and at least as long to save it will be nice.


And here it catches up to us again, to do what’s in its nature— to lie to us, and confuse us, and steal what we come to by toil and being lucky just once in our fucking lives. And are we gonna be surprised by that, boys, government being government? Will we next be shocked by rivers running or trees casting fucking shade?

complications - 2x05

oh, good. small pieces of the deck are in my hand.

i try, i try to remember in the first place, what i thought you were to me.

"There is really nothing more to say—except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how."
— Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye


vincent van gogh → blue/yellow

but you can’t shout at people for not measuring up to your ungrounded expectations. you can’t.

Various Clouds, by Vincent Van Gogh.

i process words process half-thoughts what might vaguely be

because there are absences and because there is nothing to heal

(that isn’t right, of course / closer to saturation than to nothing, hear a calling all around / but where is resonance? / where return to touch?

      it / doesn’t.   it / cannot.)

'were it not that i'

'were it not that i'

oh, i have always had these dreams

and what am i to say

now they have been opened

now they have been changed.

of course there could be coherence if you wished it or something closer, but for now call it in drifting and tonight it is memory and elsewise emptiness. a point of fact: that nothing found in this could be defined surprising. never mind. never mind. (what did you remember? and is it excuse or is it actually. how these kinds collide.)

let me,/ let me,/ let me.

"Without you my air tastes
like nothing. For you
I hold my breath."
— Mary Szybist, ‘Invitation’
# .